


monday, midday, inverse

by thermocline



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Flowers, M/M, Reverse Chronology, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/pseuds/thermocline
Summary: Flowers arrive at his house every other Monday around 1 o'clock.It starts on Monday, January 9, and then it happens every week, same time, as shown by the stamped delivery to PK’s townhouse. Package for Subban, delivered 1:15 PM, 1:11 PM, 1:07 PM - each slip holds little erratic variations, but it’s always the same postal carrier’s scrawl.PK begins to wonder if they’ve picked up on it by now.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloriousvariety](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousvariety/gifts).



> Thank you to Hailey for the hasty beta. Happy holidays!

Flowers arrive at his house every other Monday around 1 o'clock.

 

It starts on Monday, January 9, and then it happens every week, same time, as shown by the stamped delivery to PK’s townhouse. Package for Subban, delivered 1:15 PM, 1:11 PM, 1:07 PM - each slip holds little erratic variations, but it’s always the same postal carrier’s scrawl.

 

PK begins to wonder if they’ve picked up on it by now.

 

The flowers are gorgeous, table sized bouquets in coordinating colors, with cards corresponding to the meaning of the blossoms. It’s everything from sunflowers to morning glories, packaged in perfect tissue paper, stems cut in a perfect approximation of how they should sit in the heirloom vase PK’s mom gave him for his place in Nashville. It helps the space to feel a little more like home.

 

The third week, the arrangement is so beautiful that PK almost cries, and the note enclosed, well. It’s comforting and also agonizing that it didn’t come in text form.

 

_ Hey there. I’ve got 500 characters, so, here we go. Thanks for last week. I’ve missed you like hell, and I started missing you again the second the wheels went up leaving Nashville. You’re so incredible, just as good as you were in Montreal. Don’t ever doubt that. I hope I can fly out and see you for All Star Break! Secret plus-ones, free booze, all that. Sorry, I’m rambling. Enjoy the flowers. Hopefully they brighten up the bleak weather you’ve been having. Love, Alex. _

 

**> PK, 3:25PM**

**just got ur flowers. thank u, babe. I miss you too.**

 

**< AGal, 3:26PM**

**:) least i could do. lots of love.**

 

**> PK, 3:26PM**

**right back atcha.**

 

+

 

January 2, and they’re starting the new year right.

 

He’d picked Alex up from the airport yesterday, midway through the afternoon. As soon as PK shut the door to his place behind them, Alex pulled PK in, tugging at his shirt gently, eyes bright and coaxing. They hadn’t exchange a word. Alex had searched his face, and PK sighed, pressed his lips to Alex’s forehead gently. Alex had smiled, nudged him down, and kissed him, sweet and crisp as the snow outside. His lips were still a little cold, the tip of his nose pink; the kisses were slow and deep, cataloguing the feel and taste, atoning for several months of stolen time.

 

Waking up next to Alex the next morning settles something loose that’s been rattling in PK’s chest for months.

 

They never have sex the first night they’re together, unless Alex really, really wants it. It’s a leftover limp from last year. Alex likes to get reacquainted a little. He likes to feel safe before opening up like that. PK’s happy to oblige. There’s a lot to be said for the designated time, the cuddling and intimacy, the altruistic expressions of affection. He makes sure to always ask before advancing. With anyone else, it’s taken for granted. Now, it’s a sense of security that seems easy. It makes their communication just that much better.

 

PK really wishes that he had more time for Alex than the day before a game, a Monday off, the edges of a hangover tugging at his usually logical train of thought. 

 

Judging by the way Alex rolls his eyes and kisses PK good morning, he doesn’t seem to mind.  They take it slow, no pressure. The amount of love Alex communicates solely in the nuances of how he gasps and grips PK closer, rutting against his thigh, is breathtaking.

 

The arousal fills him, slow, until it reaches its brim and boils over. “C’mere,” PK gets out, and Alex goes, letting PK get on top, the duvet rustling and puddling around their hips. He sits back for a moment, taking in the sight of Alex underneath him. They’re both bigger now, broader, and Alex is fucking massive. The beastly amounts of training he’s gone through clearly paid off - the lip of his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders, the cut of his hips - all of him is beautiful. Alex flushes all the way down his chest and reaches out, running a hand between PK’s pectorals, down the line of his abs. Alex smirks when PK lets a throaty little sound slip, hips grinding forward. PK gets him back by pinning Alex’s shoulders down, flipping them over, and moving to bite at his neck.

 

"Wait," Alex gasps, and PK pulls back. Being underneath someone, or receiving bruises, can be upsetting for Alex. He’s got a preference for being vocally in control. Sometimes they push it, if Alex is feeling okay, and sometimes Alex asks for it, but now, PK wonders if he went too far. He wonders if Alex is thinking about all the bad shit that he's been working so hard to grapple with, the self doubt, the blame -

 

“I was gonna get you flowers," Alex mumbles, and PK’s panic comes to a screeching halt. Oh. "I know you're like, already turned on and we're into this and stuff but - I was going to buy you flowers to say thanks. Bring you something special."

 

It’s quiet for a moment. Alex blinks up at him. PK laughs, trying to shake off the nervous energy still swirling in his chest. “You scared me for a second there.”

 

“Sorry,” Alex says. 

 

“It’s okay,” PK responds, and he means it. He reaches down to lace his fingers through Alex’s, and Alex sighs, content. “To both things. I don’t need anything special, you know that. I like us just the way we are.”

 

“Me too,” Alex murmurs. PK shifts the duvet so that their body heat reflects back, creating a little warm spot for him and Alex. Alex grins and kisses PK again. His beard is scratchy, and his smile is too bright in the glaring light filtering through the curtains. PK doesn’t mind.

 

++

 

Montreal is beautiful at Christmastime.

 

Alex brings PK to meet his family. Anna smiles and welcomes PK back. He’s one of her own, no matter how far circumstances may remove him. 

 

There’s an unspoken agreement between them that if PK ever hurts Alex - well. There will be hell to pay. PK understands her sibling protectiveness. It’s a survival instinct, protecting your kin.

 

The day after Christmas, they venture out to Old Montreal, just PK and Alex this time. It’s quiet when they arrive, early in the morning, and Alex hesitantly reaches out to take PK’s hand. They meander the streets, tucked up under wool coats and beanies, snow falling languidly around them. The cobblestones and old facades seem to hold secrets, lore of loves past and fundamental tenets of human nature past any mortal ear. The streets here have eyes, bear witness to hundreds of years of life’s colorful course. It’s scary yet humbling at the same time.

 

Later in the day, they meet up with Max and Carey, which warrants a group hug so tight that PK might get squished to death. He can’t stop smiling when they go out for lunch together, the din of laughter filling a little void he didn’t even know was there. Alex squeezes PK’s hand under the table. His eyes dance in the ambient light of the room. 

 

“A toast,” Carey proposes. “For having the best badass back on this side of the border.”

 

The grin he directs towards PK feels like home.

 

+

 

“You’re gonna be here so soon!” Alex smiles, distorted through the cross-country internet connection. 

 

“One week.”

 

“I know! Mom’s excited to see you. The guys are, too. People miss you a lot, you know.”

 

PK is silent for a moment. His chest feels too tight, like he might start crying. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Alex echoes, soft. He rests his head on his hands, leaning on the counter where his laptop is resting. PK wants to reach through the screen and hold him, run his fingers through Alex’s tousled hair. “ _ I _ miss you a lot, not just ‘people’. That was a cop out.”

 

PK has known Alex since he was drafted, has watched him grow up from a feisty, eager-to-please eighteen-year-old to the twenty-two year old he is today. He looks older now, for sure, much more wear on his face than four years would usually leave behind. Despite his setbacks, he’s handled everything far better than PK would have at his age. Water off a duck’s back, Alex’s mom always says. Adapt, survive. 

 

PK wouldn’t say it, for fear of being demeaning, but he’s really proud of Alex, who has a lot of love to give. He’s lucky to be the recipient of daily texts that hold as much intention as Shakespeare’s sonnets. 

 

Well, maybe not as eloquently worded, but nice nonetheless.

 

As if on cue, Alex yawns, nuzzling into the sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing. “I should get to bed. Knee rehab tomorrow. Kneehab,” Alex adds, giggling at his own joke.

 

“Okay,” PK says, soft, as if he’s trying to soothe a puppy to sleep. “Hey, I love you.”

 

Alex smiles.

 

+

 

On December 12, Alex calls him, fairly early in the morning. The time difference doesn’t help. It may be nine there, but it’s seven in Nashville, and it is too early for almost anyone, in PK’s book.

 

“Hey,” Alex starts when he picks up. “So, I know you were probably sleeping, but did you send flowers?”

 

“Hm?” PK yawns. It takes his brain a second to start working. “Oh, yeah.”

 

Alex is quiet for a few seconds. It’s long enough that PK starts to nod off again. “Thank you.”

 

“No problem. If management won’t give you any love, I should give you extra, right?” The words barely string themselves together cohesively. Yeah, this morning isn’t really happening.

 

“Thank you,” Alex echoes. There’s the sound of water running, then of glass on the counter. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“Love you,” PK mumbles, and he’s asleep not even a minute later.

 

+

 

Alex collides with Kopitar, and it’s ugly, one of those clips where you wince watching the playback. He gets evaluated on December 5th, a Monday, and the verdict is in. Six to eight weeks out.

 

PK calls him and lets Alex vent his frustration. Alex sobs, sounds angry, bitter at himself.  _ It’s not your fault, _ PK says, and it carries the weight of careful intent. If this were last year, he would’ve just been able to go to Alex. He would’ve been able to make him dinner, let Alex open up about team worries face-to-face, would’ve been able to give Alex the attention he needs right now. He needs to heal. He needs someone to boost that healing. If anything else, Carey will be there. PK makes a mental note to shoot him a text later to check in.

 

**> PK, 12:25 PM**

**hey, can you pick up an arrangement from the flowers place by alex’s house and bring it to him?**

 

**< Carey, 12:30 PM**

**Yeah, no problem. Is he being more honest with u than he is with us? We’re all pretty worried, he’s taking it kinda hard.**

 

**> PK, 12:31 PM**

**kinda. i wish i was there. give him extra love for me. make sure he’s not by himself for too long, you know how he gets, self blaming and all that.**

 

**< Carey, 12:32 PM**

**Will do. I’ll call u once I’m at the flower place, so that you can tell them what u want.**

 

**> PK, 12:33 PM**

**thanks, ur a lifesaver.**

 

**< Carey, 12:34 PM**

**anytime.**

 

+

 

It starts the week after PK goes to Nashville. Alex is celebrating the Fourth with his family, and needless to say, he’s pretty distraught, going on and on about how Montreal’s fanbase is going to miss the shit out of PK, how he can’t let this get to him, how he’s still an incredible player and no one can take that away from him. There’s even an impromptu road trip down, which PK doesn’t know about, until - 

 

Alex shows up with flowers at 1 o’clock in the morning, all the local establishments long closed, the entire city winding down to sleep.

 

They don’t have to say anything. 

 

“Come here,” PK manages to get out. His voice cracks, and his eyes well with tears. Alex pushes him against the hall of the entryway, soft, tender, unyielding. The flowers get placed on the counter. The TV gets shut off. PK lets Alex coax him down, lets Alex unravel him with gentle touches and sweet words until he’s fucked out, a perfect ache, covered in tears and come. They’re holding onto each other so tight that they might die, and PK’s stopped crying now, but his breath still shakes in his chest like a plane rumbling with turbulence on its touchdown. 

 

The clock reads three in the morning, and it’s pitch black outside, quiet save for the crescendo of Alex’s breathing, the reverberation of his heartbeat where PK is resting on his chest.

 

“You still have me,” Alex whispers. Neither of them want to move to clean up. It feels like they’re wrongfully shattering the tense silence, stealing a moment in history for themselves when the whole world is unaware around them.

 

“I know,” PK says. At times like this - “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

 

“Good,” Alex smiles, and reaches to smooth his thumb over PK’s cheek. His eyes are so green in the dim light of the bedside table lamp. “Because I’m not going anywhere for now.”


End file.
